a constellation of tears on your lashes; texarkana

[Texarkana]

and sometimes i don't know which way to go;
and i've tried to run before, but i'm not running anymore

  She is a shadow of what she had once been - frail, thin and worn down by the many moments that had passed her by. What was once supple with powerful, sinewy muscle now lay flat and rigid against her delicate frame. Her angular features, always so prominent, becoming sharper with age - gaunt, as there is little but remnants of what had once been hanging precariously from her tired old bones. There was no explanation for it - she should have died long ago; she should be the very ash that her children inevitably had become - a decrepit, lifeless pile of bones, washed away by the ravenous sea. But alas, she is not, and she is forced to wander alone.

   Instead, she is forced to wander, awakened by the unyielding trembling of the soil beneath her, as everything she had once known suddenly no longer existed. The wrath had been imminent; a greed and thirst for power by so many had driven Her to unleash a reckoning upon them, and Texarkana had merely been caught in the current - swept under by Her powerful hand, and stirred from her restless slumber in the wake of it. She cannot see - no, not anymore, not in many years - but she can sense the shift; she can feel the atmospheric change festering within the tender marrow of her fragile bones and it is all at once overwhelming. 

   Where once vibrant, searching doe eyes once thrived, now settled into a milky white. Her sight had been stolen by the many days, weeks, and months that had long since passed. She surely deserved Death, but Death had been kind (or perhaps cruel) to her, instead taking her precious birthright in exchange for an unwanted eternity alone. Her heart is calloused and scarred and would never be as it had been so long ago, within his gentle grasp, and so she is aimless and quiet, seeking nothing and no one as her heart longs for an end.

   The soft caress of the breeze, though frigid, is her only reprieve, and yet it is more forceful - urging her away from the shadow of the thicket she so often sought refuge in. Her eyes, blank and sightless, stare ahead as the wind weaves its way through her tangled, matted tresses, pressing her forward though her pounding heart (when had it last stirred so?) told her not to - and then, there - there, interlaced betwixt the scent of sleet, of mud and pine, his scent calls out to her. With her heart hammering against the confinement of her thin rib cage, she moves forward with a fluid grace she had once thought was gone, chin pointed towards the dreary, dully painted sky of gray.

   "Devi?" she breathes, uncertainly, knowing too well how her hopeful yearning had disappointed her before.

Texarkana

because i've fought it hard enough to know.